


We Both Know We Ain't Kids No More

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:12:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9133483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: "Galen feels sorry for him, suddenly. Orson might have power, for now, but if he carries on like this, he will never be happy. And he will never know love the way Galen has known it, for Lyra and for Jyn."





	

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Adele, because Galen and Orson seem like a very Adele sort of couple.

As promised, the Empire provides Galen with quarters that are comfortable. Luxurious, even. He thinks about rejecting them. He should refuse to work until he's housed somewhere more appropriate, a jail cell or a cage, somewhere that makes it obvious he's here against his will. He doesn't. Lyra was always the brave one. Galen is the coward who takes the easy way out. 

It's been sixty-seven standard days since Lyra died and he last saw Jyn. Galen's counting, but it doesn't help. The pain is still as fresh as the day he lost them. When he gets back to his warm, well-lit, tastefully decorated apartment at the end of another shift, he finds Orson Krennic there, sitting on the leather sofa in his uniform. Orson scrolls through a datapad with a lazy flick of his wrist, his boots up on the coffee table. He always did have a flair for the dramatic. 

“Galen!” Orson exclaims, as Galen removes his uniform jacket. “How was your day?” Galen doesn't reply. It's the only way to deal with Orson: refusal to engage. Once you start to argue with him, you've already lost. “I thought I'd drop by for a quick visit,” Orson goes on. “After all, you've been home with us for over sixty days now. It's been terribly remiss of me not to come sooner.” His tongue flicks out to lick his lips after last two words, emphasizing the juvenile double entendre.

Galen pretends he hasn't noticed. He heads toward his bedroom, to remove the rest of his hated uniform as quickly as possible. On his way, he passes by the dining room. A glance to his left reveals an embarrassing amount of food. The table is laden with at least a dozen serving plates of dishes he can't name, but which smell divine. Galen hesitates and, just like that, it's over. Orson is on him, like a felinx on its prey, his body pressed snugly behind Galen's and his hand on Galen's shoulder. “I brought dinner,” he murmurs into Galen's ear, stating the obvious.

Galen swallows, hating himself even more than usual. “I'm not hungry,” he tries, but he knows it's too late. 

“Well, then, you can sit and watch me eat.” A little shove pushes Galen into the back of a dining chair. Orson slinks around to the other side of the table, pulling out his own chair and sitting down. He folds his face into a pleading expression which Galen knows is false. Disingenuous is Orson's middle name. “Please, darling. It is the least you can do.”

That statement is patently ridiculous. But as a punishment, this is no more than Galen deserves. He sits, his back rigid, and crosses his arms defiantly over his chest as Orson serves himself. 

***

“So then,” Orson says, around a mouthful of some sauced noodle dish. It smells amazing, and Galen is working hard to ignore it. “I said, 'Lieutenant, I don't know about you, but that's the biggest damn _khyber crystal_ I've ever seen!'” Orson laughs uproariously, bringing a satin napkin up to his mouth. “It was too funny, I assure you. I know you never did have much of a sense of humour. Are you sure you won't dine with me, though?” As if on cue, Galen's stomach growls. Orson grins. “There now. There's no sense in denying yourself to spite me. Have a roll, at least.” He pushes the basket of bread across the table. Sighing, Galen picks up the plainest, smallest of the rolls and bites into it without buttering it. 

Orson takes a long drink of emerald wine. It's not his first. Nearly an entire bottle has disappeared over the course of the meal, with no help from Galen. Orson wipes his lips again and returns his fine-stemmed glass to the table. “This rather reminds me of the old days, don't you think, Galen, darling? You, the ascetic genius, me the gluttonous admirer.”

Galen can't sit passively any longer. “This is nothing like the old days. The Orson Krennic I knew back then was a good man. He would have known this is wrong, all of it.” 

Orson waves a hand, dismissing this thought. “The Orson Krennic you knew back then was an empty-headed slut. Haven't you heard the rumours? That he once bedded an entire Stormtrooper unit in a single night, and got on his knees for every officer he ever met?” Galen knows those rumours, and many more. He defended Orson against them, even as Orson cheated his way across the galaxy. “This Orson Krennic is a powerful leader, and he's gaining more power all the time. Make no mistake, that's how I intend to be remembered.” For an instant, there's a flash of something dark and dangerous in Orson's eyes. Then it's gone, replaced by his usual hollow smile. 

Galen feels sorry for him, suddenly. Orson might have power, for now, but if he carries on like this, he will never be happy. And he will never know love the way Galen has known it, for Lyra and for Jyn. “It's not too late for you,” Galen says. There was something between them, once, and Galen can't let Orson self-destruct like this. Not without trying to save him. “Orson, it's not. You can change your life, you can find someone...”

“I have someone, darling. You're right here. And I have missed you.” 

Galen shakes his head. “No. I loved Lyra...”

“Lyra stole you from me and shot me in the kriffing shoulder.” 

He sounds so affronted, Galen can't help it. He laughs out loud. It makes Orson frown, so Galen keeps doing it, until Orson stands and throws his napkin onto the table. “Laugh all you like, Galen, but Lyra is gone, and you're here with me, where you belong.” 

“I'd rather be dead.” It's the most honest sentence Galen has uttered in sixty-seven days.

He flinches as Orson's wineglass hits the wall, shattering. “That can easily be arranged, darling. And you'd be wise not to forget it.” Orson storms out, his boots crunching over broken glass. 

That, Galen remembers, is like the old days. Tantrums and drama, Orson's already unstable personality made more unstable by his fondness for drink. Galen had found it alluring, at first. He couldn't believe a tempestuous force like Orson Krennic would be attracted to a mousy, unremarkable man like him. Orson was sexy and flamboyant; Galen's only positive qualities were intellectual. For a while, Galen had been thrilled to be permitted into Orson's orbit, enthralled by him both in bed and outside of it. He'd even thought he loved Orson, once. Then Galen met Lyra and learned what true love really was. 

_I'm sorry, Lyra my love,_ he thinks. He pulls a thick slice of meat onto his plate, as the housekeeping droid rolls in and beeps censoriously at the glass on the floor. _I wish I was as strong as you._ Galen is hungry, though, very, and with Orson gone there's no reason not to eat. _Besides,_ he thinks, _I'm going to need all the strength I can get._ If Orson can't be reasoned with, and obviously he can't, then Galen is going to have to stop the Empire on his own. Tonight, he's going to figure out exactly how he's going to do that.


End file.
